Dobby's Sock Drawer
by Schwepcn
Summary: Random HP story scraps. Anything put in here is up for adoption.
1. Using Umbridge

Harry leaves Hogwarts

"Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"

"After I leave school? I can't really talk about that, Professor."

"I heard that you wanted to be an auror, Mr. Potter?"

"Professor, in my second year I saw Hagrid being taken to Azkaban without a trial. In my third year I found out that Azkaban is a jail where the prisoners are tortured into insanity. I then found out that my godfather was put into prison without a trial. This year I was attacked by dementors. Despite corroborating testimony no investigation was carried out. I have no intention of working for the ministry. I have several ideas for careers which I am currently not at liberty to discuss." Harry turned his chair so that he could see both Professors. "The only reason I came today is that I needed to discuss something with both my head of house and the Headmaster."

"_Hem hem." _Umbridge gave a sickly sweet smile. "What would you like to talk about, Mr. Potter?"

"I would like to transfer to Beauxbatons. I have already prepared my paperwork and received permission from Madame Maxine. I only need the Headmaster's approval."

"And why should I do that, Mr. Potter?"

"I am offering to leave Britain. I was under the impression that you wanted that very much, Professor Umbridge."

"Yes, but before you go I will need you to clear up some misconceptions that have been floating around. _Hem hem. _Certain rumors about a dark lord."

"Sadly I cannot do that. I can stop the release of certain documents, however."

"Documents, Mr. Potter?" asked Umbridge.

"Yes," Harry gave his sunniest smile, "Testimony. Photographs. Medical reports. Details about your unique method of discipline, Professor Umbridge."

"Yes, I see the value in strengthening the bonds between France and Britain." She waved her hand, "Very well, Mr. Potter, you have my app-"

"Hold it!" Professor McGonagall interrupted. "Why would you want to leave, Mr. Potter? Your parents went to school here. Your grandparents. Your entire family to who knows how many generations called Hogwarts home. Why would you abandon it?"

"Four. I have been almost killed an average of four time every year I have been at Hogwarts. This is actually my safest year yet. I only had one near death experience and that at my relative's house."

"Four times? I have a hard time believing that. Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain."

"First year: troll in the lavatory, Quirrell jinxed my broomstick, he almost killed me in the forbidden forest, and again in the third floor corridor. Quirrell, the DADA professor, turned out to be a deranged follower of You-Know-Who, Professor Umbridge. Second year: almost flattened by the whomping willow, acromantulas in the forest, living in a castle with a basilisk on the loose, and being poisoned by said basilisk at the end of the year. Third year: almost killed three times by dementors and once by a werewolf. Fourth year: I almost died on each of the tasks and once more when Barty Crouch Jr. attacked me at the end of the tournament.

"See professor, this has been my safest year at Hogwarts. Under those conditions why would I wish to stay?"

Professor McGonagall blinked at Harry. She reached a shaking hand for her tea, "You will still need your relative's permission."

"I doubt that, Professor."

"What do you mean, Harry?"

"They never gave me permission to attend Hogwarts."

"All students receive their guardian's permission to Hogwarts."

Harry smirked, "They burned my letter. When the letters kept coming they ran. When Hagrid tracked us down my uncle tried to shoot him. What part of that sound like consent?"

"I- I see."

"I have been scheduled to leave this weekend, Professors." With a short bow Harry walked out of the office leaving two flustered professors behind him.

Author's Notes: I don't own Harry Potter.

This would be the start of independent!Harry fic that starts before the Ministry fiasco. I don't really want to write an independent!Harry fic, just thought that this way to start one would be unique.


	2. The Hero's Trial

The Hero's Trial

"And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?"

"The traps. Why could three first year students get past a bunch of traps that were supposed to stop Voldemort?"

"Ah, but Harry," Dumbledore's eye twinkled, "the traps were not meant to stop Voldemort. They were only meant to delay him until I could deal with him. Unfortunately the originals could not be used."

"What? Why not, sir?"

"I used an ancient ritual magic called the Hero's Trial. Clever tricks and shortcuts won't work inside the enchantment, it cannot be overpowered or dispelled. The only way through is to face each challenge head on and defeat it. It was used to test boys entering manhood, taking the boys to the limit of their abilities but no further. The problem is that the entrant must be capable of passing all challenges."

"I don't understand..."

"If I put, say, a dragon in there and you tried to reach the stone then the enchantment would have failed. You would have been able to bash a wall down and go around the dragon or slip it some drugged meat or any other tricky, underhanded tactics. The entrant must possess the ability to overcome each trap. They may still fail but not due to lack of ability. Of course the difference in abilities between Voldemort and a collection of first years is quite considerable."

"So why didn't you just keep us out of the corridor altogether?"

"I surrounded the third floor entrance with every ward and defense I could. Only Voldemort would be allowed through, every student who approached the door would simply find pressing matters elsewhere. That is until you, Neville, Ron, and Hermione entered the corridor your second week here never even noticing the defenses."

"Um, you knew about that, sir?"

"Of course. We had to change all the defenses or the enchantment would have failed. Plants for Neville, flying for you, chess for Ron, a logic problem for Hermione. We would have had to get rid of the troll but fortunately you and your friends proved you could defeat a troll on Halloween. I told you the secret of the mirror on Christmas and Hagrid told you how to get past Fluffy. Every challenge was designed for your group or you were given hints on how to get past it."

"Why didn't you just tell us to stay out?"

"We couldn't. By entering the corridor you accepted the challenges. By stopping you from entering the corridor we would have broken the Hero's Trial."

"So we kinda ruined everything?"

"Harry, you stood up to Voldemort. You stopped him from getting the stone. Mistakes happen but the worth of the man is in correcting those mistakes."

"How did we get past your wards, sir?"

"That will have to be a discussion for another day, my boy. Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them – but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

Author's Notes: I don't own Harry Potter. The two opening and closing paragraphs are from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

A possible explanation for the daft protection around the stone that doesn't result in an evil!Dumbledore (still insane/incompetent for trying to attract an insane dark wizard to a school, but not evil). It couldn't be brought up in the conversation but the reason that Harry was able to get into the third floor corridor at all is that he's a proto-horcrux of Riddle.

The only real evidence for this interpretation is the Devil's Snare which is obviously targeted at Neville and Dumbledore telling Harry how to get the stone out of the mirror. If Dumbledore only wanted a confrontation between Riddle and Harry then he wouldn't have had to explain the mirror, only the traps leading up to the mirror.


	3. And That's Terrible

And That's Terrible

Harry had spent the last week pointedly ignoring today. Today, the last day of term. The day magic ended and he returned to the Dursleys. Privet Drive was normal, it didn't allow dragons or three-headed dogs or friends.

Clothes neatly folded in his trunk, books packed, invisibility cloak hidden with the pants, his Nimbus 2000 stored in the broom shed, the dorm room was left bare waiting for next year's firsties. Harry sighed and trudged down to breakfast.

"Cheer up mate, it's only two months. We'll be back before you know it." Ron grinned at Harry.

"Yeah, over before I know it."

"Just think of all the things you can do in the muggle world, Harry. There are the museums and the zoos and um... movies."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Tell you what-"

"We'll send you a toilet seat."

"Brother mine, we already-"

"Did that. But what could we possibly send him-"

"That beats a toilet seat?"

"I don't know. Toilet seats are-"

"Comedic gold. What about something in ferret?"

"Well, it would be thematic." The twins continued discussing what to send Harry, the rest of the table tuning them out through dint of experience and a desire for plausible denaibility.

Harry finished eating and trudged out to the carriages with Ron and Hermione. It was a beautiful summer day with a robin-egg-blue sky. Harry hated it.

Their trunks were already packed on the next carriage in line. Magic rocked.

The train ride home was full of Exploding Snap and Wizarding Chess. They even managed to pull Hermione away from her homework and made her join in. Too soon the train pulled into the station and the students disembarked.

Harry lugged his trunk out past the barrier and was surprised to find the entire Dursley family–minus Uncle Vernon's odious sister, Marge–waiting for him. "Well, what are you waiting for. Hurry up, boy."

The Dursleys moaned and sighed and grumbled as Harry dragged his trunk to Uncle Vernon's sleek, black company car. Harry heaved his trunk into the boot and sat in the back seat being pointedly ignored by the Dursleys except for Dudley who gave him an occasional half hearted poke.

With a negligent toss and accompanying thump Uncle Vernon removed the trunk. "Here boy, throw your clothes into this. Hurry now, chop chop." Aunt Petunia thrust a ratty old knapsack into Harry's chest. They were not at Number Four Privet Drive. They were, in fact, at Heathrow Airport, something Harry felt was rather odd.

"Um, why-"

"Don't ask questions. Move, we have a plane to catch."

A plane? Harry had never been on a plane before. He quickly shoved his muggle clothes into the knapsack taking special care to transfer his father's invisibility cloak and wand.

The Dursleys flew Business while Harry flew Economy. The back of Economy, as close as possible to the engines without leaving the skin of the plane. He felt a little touched that the Dursleys had specifically chosen a seat to maximize his discomfort, it showed that they cared. Of course, sharing a dormitory with Ron—the first night at Hogwarts the seventh year prefect barreled into the firsties' dormitory at two in the morning demanding to know which little ingrate had smuggled a chuckwood (according to the Quibbler: a species of woodchuck that has laboriously learned to chuck wood with the aid of a chainsaw) into Hogwarts—Harry could sleep through anything. Though between the train ride and now the plane ride—he was flying without magic, bizarre and terrifying—Harry was too jazzed to sleep. He was stuck in a metal tube for seven hours with nothing to do.

Fortunately the nice man sitting next to Harry lent him a nice book about a robot psychologist. The stewardess gave him a dry sandwich and a soda. That was the first soda he had ever had, Harry couldn't say that he liked it. Pushing the soda to the side he finished the book and managed to sleep for the rest of the journey.

The tilt of the plane woke him up. Sure, Harry had flown before, diving and swooping inches above the ground but this was different. Then Harry had flown, here he was just a passenger subject to the whims of another. He clutched at the armrest until the plane finished landing and let out a breath he hadn't realized he held.

Harry never knew he had a passport but there it was being handed to the clerk behind the counter, judged acceptable and stamped just like the Dursleys'. Uncle Vernon insisted on renting the largest SUV in the lot. After Harry finished loading all of the luggage—three suitcases for Aunt Petunia, one very large suitcase for Uncle Vernon, two suitcases and a dufflebag for Dudley, and Harry's own knapsack—the Dursley family plus extra drove out into New York City.

Uncle Vernon instantly regretted not taking a taxi. The crazy American drivers, heavy traffic, and complete lack of parking made them circle a city block for half an hour. The upside being that Aunt Petunia couldn't resist gloating any longer.

"Your freak mother was a bastard. My mother wrote every detail of her sordid affair," she snorted in disgust, "in her diary. Your mother was the result. I always knew there was something different about her, other than her freakishness.

"Oh yes, she was quite the little cuckoo taking what didn't belong to her. But now we're going to get some of that back. Your worthless, whoring grandfather apparently has a lot of money," she sniffed, "it should be his responsibility to raise you and to compensate us for your thieving little mouth."

Filth continued to flow from Aunt Petunia for the ten minutes it took Uncle Vernon to find a parking garage five blocks away from their destination. Once parked Aunt Petunia straightened her hair, touched up her lipstick, and asked her 'Duddiekins' if he was alright or if the journey had upset his stomach.

Apparently Dudley's stomach was fine as three big macs could attest to. Harry got the French fries from the one dollar menu.

Five blocks left the Dursley men panting and red faced. While they caught their breath Harry gazed up at a small skyscraper. LexCorp Tower read a placard. Harry knew that his parents were well to do—they left him a mound of gold, after all—but this delicate sweep of steel and glass spoke of real money and influence. Or as Dudley put it, "Shit, freak. Your gramps is loaded." To which Harry could only nod.

The Dursleys rumpled, tired, and soaked with sweat pushed their way into the foyer of LexCorp Tower. Uncle Vernon barreled to the receptionist, "Excuse me," he barked, "I need to see Mr. Luthor. It's about his grandson." He grabbed Harry's collar and swung Harry around.

The receptionist smiled showing just a hint of milk white teeth, Harry tried to respond with an apologetic grin, "Am I correct in assuming that this young man is Mr. Luthor's grandson?"

"That is correct." Uncle Vernon's meaty hand pressed down on Harry's shoulder.

"Mr. Luthor us a very busy and influential man. Before we disturb him we just need to verify the young man's identity, Mr?"

"Dursley, Vernon Dursley and this," he shook Harry slightly, "this is Harry Potter. We are not just going to be brushed aside. We've been caring for him for a decade and we are owed compensation."

"You don't need to worry about that, Mr. Dursley. LexCorp Tower boasts a state of the art medical center. We can check Mr. Potter's ancestry in less than half an hour. Meanwhile, if you could just answer a few questions I would be very grateful." The receptionist gave Uncle Vernon a blinding smile.

The receptionist cheerfully waved them through a pair of doors where they were met by two burly men in suits and firmly escorted to a waiting room. A man with a briefcase came in and started to talk to a now nervous Uncle Vernon. Dudley fidgeted and Aunt Petunia fussed. Harry just yawned.

A doctor in a lab coat with hair that looked like stuck a finger in a light socket (years later Harry would find out that was in fact true, "Eh, better than a cup o' joe") poked his head in, "Hiya, I'm Doc Smith. Would you like to come with me, kiddo? Sorry Mr. Dursley, you'll have to wait here." Doc Smith skillfully extracted Harry from Uncle Vernon and guided him into an exam room.

Doc Smith sat Harry down and took a blood sample. Passing the sample onto a nurse he and then insisted on giving Harry a full check-up. He tutted and hmmed as he looked and wrote, poked and wrote, listened and wrote. Harry tried to get a glimpse of the clipboard but all he saw were a large number of scribbles. "Hm? Oh, that's just shorthand. Got into the habit in college. Ok kiddo, put your shirt back on and get back to your family, I'll be back in just a minute."

Considerably more than just a minute later Dudley sat in a corner whining about how he was hungry while Aunt Petunia tried to comfort him describing the feast they were going eat later that night. Doc Smith came back with a bald man in a well-fitted suit. His gaze swept through the room when it met Harry his face lit up, Harry's heart leapt. The last time he felt this was opening his Weasley jumper and before that eating a squashed birthday cake in a little shack by the sea. He strode forward and hugged Harry. "Ah Harry, let me welcome you to New York City, your new home. I'm Lex Luthor, but please call me Lex, I'm too pretty to be called Grandpa."

Harry looked into the man's crinkled blue eyes. Lex grinned, "Well, a bit on the scrawny side but in this day and age that is always better than the reverse," he gave a sideways glance to Dudley. "Dmitry, please take our young guests to the canteen while I speak with their guardians." Approximately twelve hours into what Harry had believed to be his worst summer yet, Harry had a family.

x x x

"Mr. Luthor, I need to speak with you."

"Whatever it is it will have to wait, Dmitry."

"Whitewash."

"Shit," Luthor rubbed his forehead, "Mandy, tell them something urgent came up. Apologize and reschedule the meeting for tomorrow. Dmitry, what the hell is this about?"

"An attack occurred yesterday. Thus far only myself and team Gamma have been cleared of any possible brainwashing or triggers by S.T.A.R. The attack started at approximately 1000 yesterday and finished at approximately 1600. In the first fifteen minutes he incapacitated the entire building. The next six hours he spent erasing any physical or mental trace of his existence. The only reason we know of his actions is because he appeared to be completely technologically illiterate."

_In front of a young, black-haired boy an aged, robed man appeared in a column of flames a bird riding on his shoulder. "What- sir? What are you doing here?"_

_The man tilted the boy's head back so he could look into his eyes. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry. Stupefy. Obliviate." The boy fell to the ground as if dead. The movie continues with the robed man sweeping through the building incapacitating with a gesture. Security guards opened fire but the bullets stopped in midair. Luthor was bundled up by his bodyguards and rushed to the safe room, but the robed man simply teleported into the safe room and with a wave of a stick everyone in the room toppled like dominoes. "Bugger, this is going to take all day to sort out."_

_Walking counterclockwise around the room he gestured at his first victim disentangling her from her counterparts. Muttering "obliviate" he moved onto the next victim. Finishing the room he carried on with the building, starting on the bottom floor and not missing a single person in the fifteen story, four hundred plus employees office building. Not even Jim from accounting and Sarah from legal who had snuck off to the utility closet for an afternoon tryst. He then spun his stick around and walked into an office. Rummaging around the desk he picked up a random piece of paper and tapped it with his stick and then he spun his stick again._

Luthor turned away from the monitor, "What the hell just happened, Dmitry."

"Mr. Luthor, from what we have been able to ascertain from electronic records only—only three persons have any recollection of these events and all paper hard copies have been altered—two days ago at approximately 1400 hours a British couple came in with what was believed to be a paternity scam. They claimed that they had custody of your illegitimate grandson. As is standard procedure we took the child and confirmed paternity, surprisingly it came back positive. Doc Smith performed a physical revealing an aversion to touch and a pattern of scars suggesting abuse. After paying off the Dursley family you expressed a wish that they might disappear-"

"On second thought, in light of recent events, I imagine I might wish to see them again very soon."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor. Further investigation of the boy, one Harry James Potter, pulled up a list of legal oddities. The Dursleys did not in fact have custody of Mr. Potter. It appeared that no one possessed custody of Mr. Potter.

"Further, over the last year Mr. Potter simply disappeared. There are no medical, school, or police records for the past year. His father possesses only a birth certificate, a marriage certificate, a police badge, and a death certificate. His mother—your daughter, Mr. Luthor—only had schooling until the age of ten when she too disappeared. The only documentation past that age is a marriage certificate and a death certificate.

"Before Mr. Potter could be questioned about these irregularities the robed man in the security footage attacked. Mr. Potter appeared to know the robed man addressing him as 'sir' and asking him what he was doing suggesting that Mr. Potter was not complicit in the attack. The robed man proceeded to incapacitate the entire building and modify all non-electronic evidence including memories."

"I find it more likely that someone tampered with the computers than one man could erase every paper trail and modify all our memories."

"Unlikely, Mr. Luthor. The legal network has internet access but the security system has only a dedicated line to the off site backup facility and the medical network is entirely self contained. All three systems corroborate that there was a young boy who was your grandson here. Additionally three employees were sick yesterday. Janet Milan and Michael Fisher did not have any contact with the Mr. Potter but they did admit to hearing gossip about a new young Luthor. Thomas Milgram did in fact remember Mr. Potter. Perhaps most convincing is that Doc Smith made a digital copy of his examination notes and according to Doc Smith they refer to the examination of a twelve-year-old boy. Doc Smith has no memory of the examination and no idea how anyone could have duplicated his... unique handwriting."

"Very good, Dmitry. This man," Luthor gestured at the screen, "came into my home, attacked me, and took what is _mine_. Call Mr. Zard."

x x x

An interview with esteemed capitalist Lex Luthor

CK: I am very happy that you could meet with me, Mister Luthor.

LL: Just doing my duty and letting people my side, Clark.

CK: Yes, controversy has followed you in recent years, Mister Luthor. What do you say to allegations that you paid the Brazilian police to attack LexCorp strikers?

LL: I gave those workers everything. Food, shelter, meaning and that is how they repay me? I can only express my gratitude to the Brazilian government for sending in law enforcement officials when they did.

CK: And the claims that you had respected journalist Davi Cardoso assassinated?

LL: While I had no great love for Mr. Cardoso accidents do happen. I can only offer my condolences to his family.

CK: He fell from a four story building.

LL: Yes?

CK: Twice.

LL: Ah, suicide then. Very tragic.

Silence.

CK: Your water filtration system is reported to have the ability to change the fate of developing countries. Would you like to discuss your hopes for it?

LL: I'd be delighted to. While these so called heroes are flying around in tights LexCorp is proud to continue raising the standard of living world wide. Our newest filtration system is both cheaper and more effective than every other system on the market.

CK: I am sure that you will change many people's lives. You mentioned superheroes, you've made disparaging remarks about Superman-

LL: I'll tear off his head and f#$k his esophagus. He's dead, you hear me? DEAD!

DM: This interview is over. Please hand over any recording devices you may have on your persons and next time keep to the approved topic list. Have a nice day.

**Author's Notes:** I don't own Harry Potter. I do not own the DC Universe. Any names not from either of those universes I made up, any similarities between person living or dead is simply coincidence. Lex Luthor is the dark side of Dumbledore—possessive, controlling, and willing to do anything for the greater good. Dumbledore's morality here is kept intentionally vague, on the one hand he could be keeping Harry away from a man who makes Voldemort seem like a snot-nose amateur on the other hand he might just be acting to keep Harry under his control.

This Lex is still a sociopath but he isn't going to drop everything to put on a green and purple suit and slug it out with Superman. He believes wholeheartedly that he is making the world a better place and to do that he'll perform every sleazy and illegal business practice but he won't kill millions in a real estate scheme, he won't run for president (he already bought both parties), he won't sit on a cure for cancer, and he won't kick puppies (unless they're Superman's).

The idea for this came from two sources, the start came from an Iron Man crossover My Son the Wizard by savya398, the other source are all those fics where Harry meets some hero and instantly knows that they are trustworthy, good, and all things apple pie. I think a reversal with Magneto would work best but I wanted to work in the rich industrialist angle too.


	4. Polyjuice and Pig Snouts

Polyjuice and Pig Snouts

In the Summer before his Seventh Year Harry made a resolution. He would not call the mother of his godchild 'Tonks.' As the descendant of a Marauder, godson of another, and pupil of the third, it was his responsibility to teach his future godson how to break rules, kiss girls, and smuggle booze. He couldn't rightly do that if he was terrified of even saying the little Tyke's mother's first name, now could he?

And so Harry Potter came up with a patented Potter Plan, Guaranteed to produce a Deus Ex Machina One Hundred Percent of the Time or Your Money Back! With Ron at the Burrow and Ginny not speaking to him, Harry turned to his ever faithful companion in arms—if you know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge—Hermione Granger.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry whined. "You want to know what her base form is like too, don't you?"

"Well, yes... but-"

"And it would be kinda perverted if me or Ron did it."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean-"

"And you owe me," said Harry.

"I owe you? I owe you!? What do I owe for?"

"Remember when you wanted me to read that book, and I did? The book with that tongue thing?"

"Oh. Oh yes," she grinned. "I suppose I do owe you a favor." Harry dropped a purple hair into a vial, and handed it to Hermione.

"You take the Polyjuice, I take the pictures, then we blackmail her until we can call her Nymphadora." Harry dragged out the 'Nymph'.

Hermione accepted the potion from Harry. Before drinking it she smirked, "She is going to curse you until you really do speak out your ass, Harry."

"But will you still French me?" Hermione snorted and a drop of Polyjuice came out her nose. When Harry couldn't stop laughing, she started hitting him with the Stinging Hex until he gasped to a stop. "Shouldn't you have changed by now?" Hermione still looked like a gawky, frizzy, adorable bookworm.

Hermione looked down at her hands. "Either me and Tonks are twins, or you screwed up the potion, Man-Who-Conquered."

Harry grimaced at his newest hyphenation. "You know that I don't screw up Polyjuice."

"Then I best go greet my sister."

"Hermione, wait!" Too late, Hermione was out the door, down the stairs, flipping off Walburga's portrait, and in the kitchen before Harry could stop her. "Wotcher, Tonks."

A very pregnant Tonks looked up at Hermione. "Wotcher, Hermione, Harry."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, "Oh, you made it. I was afraid the doxies caught you. Tonks, you'll never believe what Harry tried to do."

"What?" asked Tonks.

"You need to guess."

"He formed a house elf choir."

"Nope."

"He talked a street walker out of a life of debauchery. He announced that he's running for Minister. He finished his summer homework."

"No. No. And he better have."

The witches' hair turned red in frustration. "I give up... He talked you into drinking a Polyjuice potion with my hair in it," she finished in a resigned voice.

"No- How'd you know?"

Wordlessly Tonks conjured up a small mirror and held it up in front of Hermione. Tonks' hair became blue, then Hermione's hair turned blue. Tonks grew a pig snout, Hermione snorted in surprise through her porcine nose. "The only thing I can say is that you better hope it wears off. Between me being a metamorphmagus and my pregnancy, who knows what will happen."

Hermione swiveled to look at Harry. Harry smiled, said "Oops?" and booked it out of the room, an overpowered Stinging hex on his tail.

**Author's Notes:** I don't own Harry Potter.

Standard 7th year AU, Voldemort is dead and everyone else is alive. Romantic comedy, Hermione looks like Tonks, who doesn't look like herself. Probably with a humorous take on marriage contracts for complications. Hermione needs to be the one suffering from the potion (control freak losing control is the basis for ninety percent of modern romantic comedies) but the other pairings are up in the air.

Idea came late at night when I realized I have never read a story where somebody tried to Polyjuice into Tonks.

I guess I ended this too soon from the reviews. Every time Tonks makes a change Hermione undergoes the same change. So over the course of time Hermione will look exactly like Tonks, but she will never look like Tonks base form. In fact, whether Tonks has a base form at all is uncertain, it is a pretty good bet that Tonks doesn't remember it.


	5. The Worst Sort of Muggle

The Worst Sort of Muggle

On the second of November 1981 Petunia Dursley nee Evans walked out her front door to pick up her milk. To her delight she found a toddler, a small bundle of joy, which she wasted no time cooing over in the ridiculous saccharine language all humans regress to when they see smaller humans. "_Who's_ a good little boy?_ You're_ a good little boy. Yes, you_ are_. _Yes_, you_ are_."

She fished the young lad out of his basket, when a letter addressed to her fell to the ground. Reading the letter Petunia Dursley nee Evans was dismayed to find this toddler was her dear, newly deceased, sister's son. "Oh my, that will never do. Look at you—_yes_, look at _you_," she tickled his stomach, "you're almost skin and bone. Don't you worry. You'll be a big_ stropping_ boy like my little Diddiekins in no time. Yes, you _will_. _Yes_, you_ will_."

Ten Years Later

"Big D, I do believe Jeremy wishes to play a game of Harry Hunting today."

"Too right, Harry. He certainly hasn't communicated a desire to not participate."

Harry Hunting was a fun game for the entire neighborhood, invented by Harry Potter it presented a unique opportunity to enhance physical fitness and social bonds. If any person did not want to play, they only had to communicate that fact to Big D or Harry in the form of a five pound note—weekly.

Their course of action decided they toddled downstairs. The lovely Petunia Dursley nee Evans always prepared a nutritious meal of bacon, eggs, sausages, pancakes, waffles, toast, and orange juice. Seeing her two young boys always brought a tear to her eye, they were simply the healthiest, manliest boys she had ever laid eyes on—why, the kitchen chairs could barely hold her darlings.

"Harry dear, could you get the mail?"

"But mom..."

"You're right, dear. You finish eating I'll go get the mail."

The cousins were just starting their third serving, when a shriek of fear and despair resonated through the house. Big D looked at Harry, Harry looked at Big D, as one they shrugged. "Mum, are you alright?"

White faced Petunia Dursley nee Evans walked into the kitchen. "Everything is fine. There is nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be perfectly fine."

"Okay, mum." The rotund wonders finished their gastric miracle and headed out into the brilliant summer sun.

That night Vernon Dursley, General Manager of Grunnings Drills Inc., took his youngest aside to explain the facts of life to him. "My boy, we haven't been entirely honest with you. You parents weren't good upstanding citizens, struck down in the prime of their life by communists. Your parents were witches... and quite possibly satanists. They ran with a bad crowd and one of their freak friends did them in.

"Me and your mum have done our best to raise you in a God fearing manner, away from their influence, and you have grown up to be a fine young man, but it looks like we can't protect you any longer."

"Why not, Dad?"

"Those freaks possess strange and unnatural powers. They say you have to go to their freak school up in Scotland," Vernon said.

"But, Dad, I'm going to be a Smeltings man. I've been practicing with my stick and everything." Harry waved his stick around to prove his point.

"I'm sure you have, but now you have to be strong. Go up there and set all those freaks straight."

"I will, Dad. I'll make you proud," Harry promised.

September 1st, 1991

Harry chose a compartment and lugged his trunk into it. The previous occupant—a thin blonde boy with long blonde hair suggesting a, shudder, liberal background—objected to Harry's choice. Harry was explaining the problems inherent in a liberal philosophy through physical demonstration, when two men after his own heart came into the compartment. An intense round of questions and answers, punctuated with a small amount of physical violence, revealed their names as Crabbe and Goyle and their employer as the little ponce rudely bleeding all over Harry's compartment.

"Gentleman, you seem to have a problem, your boss, in the common vernacular, is a wuss, the best parts of him were left on his mother's thigh, he is a weak, puissant waste of space, you... You are not understanding any of this, are you?" Crabbe and Goyle blankly shook their heads. Harry sighed. "Grab him and I'll teach you how to do a swirly. Trust me, you'll love it."

After a very energetic demonstration, Harry discussed their future relationship. Slytherin just wouldn't do, they were heroes, proof that hard work and a little elbow grease beat sissy magic users any day of the week. No, the only house for the Terrific Trio would be Gryffindor—never the Three Musketeers, they weren't pansy-ass Frenchman.

x x x

The Sorting Hat quickly placed Crabbe and Goyle into Gryffindor, much to Malfoy's chagrin.

Malfoy stomped up and grabbed the hat from Professor McGonagall, the sorting hat was on Malfoy's head only an instant before he was crying, "Get me off. Get me off of him!" Professor McGonagall swiftly scooped him off Malfoy's head.

"What's wrong?"

"His head it's... it's filthy."

"I'll scourgify you, once you're done sorting him."

"Slytherin! Stick him in Slytherin. Now clean me, woman!"

Professor McGonagall huffed but did what the hat asked, while whispers and rumors swept through the great hall. "Hat couldn't stand to be on his head." "The little swot made the sorting hat feel dirty." "I felt like that once, my mum and dad forgot to lock their bedroom door. I just sat in the shower for hours." "He must be really evil." "Course he is. Sorted into Slytherin wasn't he." "Dark lord in the making, that one." "We better watch him." "Yeah, and if he puts one toe out of line..." "Good thing Potter is here, ain't it?" "He'll show him what for, he will."

When Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, marched to the hat and put it on his head the Great Hall cheered. He was certainly, erm... taller than they were expecting. Larger than life, one might say.

"Well what have we here? So you're the sod who did that to Malfoy's head. You made me sit on toilet water, boy."

"So what are you gonna do about it, impotent fez?"

"What's that I hear? Is that the most annoying sound in the world? I do believe it is, berk." Harry's head filled with an atonal hum.

Harry hummed along. Five minutes later the hat admitted defeat. "Fine, let's just get this over with.

"You aren't intelligent, though you do have a base cunning. while normally that would do you well in Slytherin, I don't see anything resembling ambition. You only desire a hedonistic lifestyle, yet you have no desire to work for it, so there goes Hufflepuff. The only house remaining is Gryffindor, which you seem to want anyway. Ah well, an immortality complex is indiscernible from bravery—most of the time, anyway. Gryffindor," the Sorting Hat finished out loud.

The Gryffindor table went wild. Harry raised his arms in victory, and sat between Crabbe and Goyle before scowling at his empty plate.

**Author's Notes**: I don't own Harry Potter.

I've read several stories where the Dursleys loved Harry, but in all those stories they were good parents. The actual joke has a short shelf life. I could imagine the entire series taking up less than 30k words, or it would become tedious.

I should rewatch Clockwork Orange (I saw it once a decade ago) and re-edit this chapter, but I won't.


	6. No Child Left Behind

No Child Left Behind

"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is, Malfoy?"

"Scarhead, what do you propose?"

"I'll bet a hundred Galleons to your one, no wait, 100-1 odds are unfair... to you. I'll bet a hundred Galleons to half a Galleon that I'll catch the snitch."

"So I get a victory party and some pocket money. You're on."

"Wait. I don't trust you, you don't trust me. So," Harry held his wand up in front of him, pointing to the ceiling, "I swear upon my magic that if Draco Malfoy catches the Snitch I will pay him one hundred Galleons, no more and no less."

"Swearing upon your magic for something so petty?" Draco sneered. "Very well, I swear upon my magic that if Harry Potter catches the snitch I will pay him half a Galleon, no more and no less."

Ron waited until Draco had gone around the corner before he turned to Harry. "A hundred Galleons! Are you mental?"

"I got tired of breathing the same air as that wretched waste of space. All I have to do, Ron, is catch the Snitch and Malfoy loses his magic."

"No, he doesn't. All he has to do is pay you half a Galleon."

"No more and no less. How many Knuts are to a Galleon?"

"About 500. Why?"

"How many exactly?"

"I can't quite remember."

"493 Knuts to a Galleon. Now tell me; could you give me half a Galleon?"

"I don't have half a Galleon, you know that."

"Limited time to explain here Ron, 17 Sickles to a Galleon, 29 Knuts to a Sickle. Those two numbers are prime to each other meaning that you can only break a Galleon up into some multiple of 17 and 29. Two is not a multiple of 17 or 29 and therefore it is impossible to pay half a Galleon."

"I don't get it, but I'll trust you. What if the teachers make you cancel the bet?"

"Doesn't matter. The phrasing of the oath was that he would pay me half a Galleon, not that he would honor the bet."

"So all you have to do to get rid of ferret face-"

"Is win a game of Quidditch."

**Author's Notes**: I don't own Harry Potter.

Dark!Harry, though no more dark than the Marauders, but Sirius did try to kill Snape... Besides, in his time at Hogwarts Harry attacked Draco in the air (first flying lesson, Harry was the first aggressor), drugged students (Crabbe and Goyle, second year), stole from a professor (also second year), cast two of the Unforgivables, formed an illegal militia, killed one DADA professor, kidnapped another, and was complicit in the probable rape of a third (Umbridge and the centaurs, there was a Cracked article about it and everything).

This use of oaths is entirely fanon. With that said there are a couple ways for Malfoy to save his magic: he could catch the Snitch, he could cut a Galleon exactly in half (but the terms of the oath was 'pay,' suggesting a monetary value, a cut Galleon may or may not have that value. And the Galleon would have to be cut perfectly in half. Magic may or may not accept that solution), or he could tell a teacher (Snape) about the bet before the game and the Hogwart's staff could force Harry to let Malfoy catch the Snitch.

I had Hermione in the scene being horrified by what Harry had done, but then I realized she would go fetch a teacher and everything would be for naught.


	7. And That's Terrible 2

And That's Terrible II

"Lex! How have you been?"

"Ran into some trouble, Billy. Thought you might be able to help me out."

"I'd be happy to help."

"Do you know this man?"

"Well, he certainly looks like a magician. Most obnoxious get-up I've seen yet, and yes; I am including the flying blue wonder's red underpants in that statement. Can't say I recognize him, though if you have more I might at least be able to tell you what type of magic he's using."

Two minutes into the surveillance video Zard was cursing up a silent storm. "He's a wand-waver.

"Okay, quick summary: thousands of years ago Atlantis was at the top of the food chain. Then, almost overnight they were wiped out many people died yadda yadda proving why it's a bad idea to build a civilization based solely on magic.

"When they were wiped out they left a large number of artifacts and weapons lying around. Most of the magical heroes and villains you see now a days are just ignorant kids who found an Atlantean device lying around. Now, in about 400 BC one asshole found the mother load. A pillar with all of the knowledge of Atlantis carved on it.

"Now, the average magician would spend the rest of his life protecting and studying this pillar. Thousands of years spent contemplating the mysteries of the universe. But this asshole was a little too worldly. He just wanted to cast the spells, not understand them. He dragged this pillar all the way to a nexus of ley lines and dropped it there. The ley lines empowered the pillar, meaning that he could force the pillar to cast the spells for him with no cost to himself, but he was a clever bastard and didn't stop there; he bound the pillar to his blood so that only he and his asshole descendants could use it. And then using sympathetic magic he created a portable pillar, a wand, allowing him to access the original anywhere."

"So if my daughter was one of these wand-wavers then either her mother or myself are descendants of this first wand-waver. As neither myself nor her mother was a witch, that means one of us possessed magic and one the lineage."

"Your daughter is a wand-waver? Congratulations, easiest path of magic with the least sacrifice. But no. Magic is unpredictable. While the children of magicians are often magical themselves, magicians are also often born from flatline mundanes.

"This is always hard to explain to someone with a scientific mind. Magic is not gravity or electromagnetism. It is alive, thinking, _unpredictable_. Magic chooses to give her gift to some and withhold from others. Genetics does not enter into it."

"And you have no idea who this man is?"

"Nah, wand-wavers keep to themselves. Act as if the rest of us Homo Magi are some sort of lower life form. I can ask around but it'll cost you."

"Twice your normal fee, and if you please me I am willing to be very generous."

"Give me a week and you'll know this tosser's shoe size."

x x x

Harry weeded the front rose bushes, five days down and fifty-nine days remaining until September 1st. At least _these_ weeds didn't fight back, stupid Devil's Snare. Aunt Petunia glared at the house across the street from the kitchen window, manicured nails tapping on the countertop, lips frozen in a sneer.

The Masons had sinned by winning a month long all-expenses-paid vacation to Bermuda. Aunt Petunia could not stand the transgression. Even worse, the Masons could afford a complete remodeling of their kitchen whilst away.

The workers had carried in tools and supplies all day. Harry finished with one side of the house and quickly moved away from the beneath the kitchen window.

x x x

"Grunnings is a family owned business. Small but steady profit margins. Most of their business is selling high quality drills to excavation companies, but they do also possess a well respected retail line. Their factory and workforce do not meet any of our present needs, and expected cost to acquire is significantly above market value."

"I want it."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor. Our forensic accountant have finished going over the Dursley's finances."

"And?"

"They are living within their means. Just living within their means. Their bank account is almost dry."

"Good finances are the bulwark of civilization. Stress their account and inform me of any good Samaritans."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor."

x x x

"Boy! Did you do it?"

"Did I do what, Uncle Vernon?"

"You know what I'm talking about. My tires! Did you do it?"

"I haven't touched your car."

"Don't you sass me. Go to your room. Petunia, I think we'll have to convert some of the freak money. One of us will have to go with the boy."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I've got to have a car, Petunia, darling."

"Very, well. Just be careful, won't you, honey."

"I will. I promise. Boy! Get down here. Now see here, I need to go to that freak bank of yours and get some currency changed. You're going to take me there, and I don't want to see any funny stuff. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Did he know about Harry's vault? "Um, why are we going to Gringott's?"

"Have to change some of these worthless coins into real money."

"What- How'd you get wizarding money?"

"That head freak, the one who runs that school, he told us that he would provide for you. Send us something to compensate us for taking care of your lazy hide. What does he do? He sends us these? What are we supposed to do with these? Had them tested, they aren't real gold. Worthless, the whole lot of them. Couldn't even convert them if I wanted to. Didn't know how to get to your freak bank, now did I? But now you can take me. We are going in, straight to the bank, don't talk to anyone, don't look at anyone, and no _funny_ stuff."

Harry led Uncle Vernon through the Leaky Cauldron keeping his eyes on the ground. Carefully tapping the bricks Harry smiled as the archway opened to the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. His uncle's mutter of freaks brought him back down to Earth.

"Remember Uncle Vernon, the bank is staffed by goblins. Don't insult them or we might not be able to leave..."

"Don't tell me what to do, boy. If I see a freak I'll call them a freak. Do you understand me, Boy?"

"You can insult wizards all you want, Uncle Vernon. The goblins would probably enjoy that, but please, just make sure that you are very clearly _not_ insulting the goblins."

Vernon hmphed but he pursed his lips and stood a little straighter.

x x x

"At 1500 Greenwich a small, bipedal sapient was seen at #4 Privet Drive. The observer describes the subject as 'Yoda on crack.' The subject teleported away after being observing Mr. Potter. No communications were exchanged at that time.

"At 1700 the Dursleys played host to the Masons, prospective clients of Grunnings. Mr. Potter was under instructions not to leave his room. The laser mike picked up this conversation.

Potter: Er, hello.

Dobby: Harry Potter, so long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir. Such an honor it is.

Faced with the high pitch wailing Luthor made a signal to pause the tape. "What the hell is that?"

"Dobby the house-elf, Mr. Luthor. The entire tape is like that."

"House-elf?"

"The closest analogue we have is fairytale of The Elves and the Shoemaker. A cobbler has elves making shoes for him, the cobbler makes tiny shoes for the elves, then the elves celebrate and depart. The main difference is that the house-elves are enslaved and giving shoes or clothes is the symbol of their freedom."

"Summarize and then get me a transcript."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor. Dobby shows up while Harry is in his room. After explaining that he is a house-elf he tells Mr. Potter not to return to Hogwarts, he says that Hogwarts is dangerous but not why. He stole Mr. Potter's mail—the wand-wavers maintain a separate postal system using owls, Mr. Luthor. Doc Smith has a plan using bird watching data to locate wand-waver population centers—Mr. Potter objects, they fight over the mail, Dobby uses magic and disappears, the magical government sends an owl threatening Mr. Potter for using magic, and Vernon Dursley locks Mr. Potter in his room.

"Important to note, Mr. Luthor, is that Mr. Potter faced this 'Lord Voldemort' shortly before leaving Hogwarts last term. The house-elf also mentions another plot directed specifically against Mr. Potter, but was unable to provide any details."

"So then, we have a deadline. I won't risk my grandson, Dmitry. Inform everyone that all loose ends need to be wrapped up by September 1st."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor."

Author's Notes: I don't own Harry Potter or the DC Universe.

I like the idea of Dumbledore paying the Dursley's in wizarding money. He is unintentionally paying them in a currency that they cannot use, just imagine the resentment that would cause. A very Dumbledore type of mistake.

This was going to be longer but it was just sitting on my hard drive like a dead fish.


End file.
